![]() I admire the simple truth you manage to impart in your lyrics. It feels like home, and it makes me smile. How many wiggly days and wiggly nights have I spent listening to you slowly bend and swirl your otherworldly notes, crafting soundscapes that seem to set my imagination and the very sky on fire? Sometimes it feels like the sound goes straight through my spine, a three-dimensional sound filling the space around me like you are gently strumming the very strings of my heart. Sometimes fragile as a porcelain doll, your songs have a mystical way of gradually transforming into sprawling, layered juggernauts of sound. How wonderful the way you frame your creations simple in their elegance, yet finely ornate in decoration. Jangly, twinkling, and uncertain, your guitar brings to life what I feel deep within. More than mere notes and chords, you channel the stirrings of your gentle, poetic soul, crafting glorious waves of amber and electric azure swells. I often marvel at your emotive guitar-playing Doug. And that Guitar! What strange sorcery could grant such prowess? Reasons to be in love with your music and reason to see you live each and every chance I get. These are but a few of the moments we have shared, and I recognize them as transient non-events in your life. You played it and for a few short minutes I floated blissfully amongst those comets stars and moons you’re so fond of. Then there was that time in Missoula where you were taking requests and I screamed out “CLEO!” at the top of my lungs. If memory serves, you even gave me a bit of a knowing wink. Remember Doug? You turned and uttered a sheepish “hey” in that unmistakable quasi-effeminate voice of yours. I caught sight of you and worked up the nerve to say “How’s it going Doug?” while passing you in an attempt at being cool and collected. You were relaxing in the theater balcony, watching your long-time openers The Delusions prior to your set. After all, it was a fleeting exchange, but I remember it very clearly. There was that time we shared a brief moment in Spokane, do you remember? I’m sure you don’t. Over time, I feel as though I’ve come to know you as a person. These moments are etched in time, clear today as they were years ago. It was this same cousin who convinced me to purchase There’s Nothing Wrong With Love only a few months later in route to my first Built To Spill concert. I was first introduced to you when my cousin bought me Keep It Like A Secret as a present for my high school graduation. Oh, lovely, bearded Doug Martsch, oft the object of my affection for more than a decade now – so many times I’ve delighted in the beauty of your creations. ![]()
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